Hourglass
by foolondahill17
Summary: Somewhere amongst the excitement, tears, arms of his daughters, and smile of his wife, Trapper just never got around to writing good-bye. The fourth in the Homecoming Series


Title: Hourglass

Summary: Somewhere amongst the excitement, tears, arms of his daughters, and smile of his wife, Trapper just never got around to writing good-bye. The fourth in the Homecoming Series

Author's Note: This is the fourth story in my series _Homecoming_. The first three, _Drain_, featuring Margaret; _Blink_, featuring B.J.; and _Range_, featuring Radar, can be found on my profile.

I know Trapper's departure and lack of correspondence has been the subject of many fan fiction stories over the years, but, seeing as I'm in the middle of this series, I figured I'd give it a shot.

The rambling, disjointed style is quite deliberate. I hope you enjoy it and reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

"Discharge?"

Frank sniffed. "Yes. And good riddance is all I can say."

"I'm being discharged?"

"Congratulations, doctor," said Margaret stiffly.

"I'm going back home?"

"Yes. You're being discharged," Frank snapped. "Honestly. I've only said so ten times. No wonder, too. The Army is no place for degenerates."

"Guess that means you'll be heading home soon, too, Frank."

"Hey! I resent that!"

"Frank, who cares? I'm going home! I'll be back in my wife's arms and you'll be left in this stinking hole! You can resent me all you'd like! When do I leave?"

"As soon as possible and that won't be soon enough for me!" Frank snapped and stormed off, followed by a ruffled Margaret.

There was so much to do. He had to pack his bag. Stop to gulp down a drink. Mail a letter to his wife. Dig for his socks under the cot. Repack his bag to make sure he hadn't forgotten his right shoe. The letter probably wouldn't get to Louise until Trapper was home. Home. He was going home. He'd better call her.

"Radar – Radar, get in here!" where was that loveable little twerp when you needed him? Probably in the reception office. Jog across the compound. Shout to Father Mulcahy the good news. Double back to the swamp because he'd forgotten his shoes. Dislodge all his luggage, searching for the shoes he'd thrown in at the bottom.

"Get my phone on the line, Radar. I'm going home!"

"You're going home, sir?"

"I got all my points!"

"Gee, congratulations, sir! That's swell."

Listen to Radar's voice as he made the connections to Boston, Massachusetts. Grab the receiver out of Radar's hand. Listen to the dial tone. Hear the click on the other end, all those hundreds of miles away.

"Hello?" she sounded grumpy and disheveled.

"Sir – I forgot – it's oh-five-hundred yesterday over there!"

"Honey – it's me – John."

"John? What is it? What's the matter?"

"Honey – I'm coming home! I've got all my points in! I'm coming home!"

"You're coming home?"

Yes – yes! Why didn't anyone else understand when he told them? Give his love to the girls. And Louise? Keep your chin up, baby. Only a few more days and I'll be there.

Dash back to the Swamp. Throw all his stuff back into his trunk. Poor himself another cup of gin. Tell Klinger, who'd stopped by after hearing the good news, that someday it might even be him in Trapper's position.

Snap the lid shut on his trunk. Tell Klinger to get together everyone for a party tonight. They'd have a sendoff like the Army'd never seen before. Search for his shaving kit. Collect all the crumpled letters from his wife that were littered around the bed. Run his fingers through his hair. He's shaking and he can hardly think. Wait until Hawkeye –

Hawkeye. Hawkeye, in Seoul. Trapper would leave before – write Hawkeye a note. Can hardly keep the pen from leaping off the page. The ink is smudged and trailing across the paper. Trapper can't stop grinning.

_Hawk,_

_Just in case you don't get back in time to say goodbye, I wanted to let you know –_

"Attention all medical personnel, wounded in the compound. Special surplus sale: buy one get two free."

Throw down the pen and paper. Tug on his jacket. Race out to triage. There's blood and groaning and Trapper has seen it so many times before but he's going home – and somehow that distracts even from the war's best shot of dampening his spirits. They're short a surgeon – two surgeons….

Pause. Henry was going home, too. Henry, who'd been – but no, that wasn't going to be Trapper. Trapper was going home. Trapper was going to be there to kiss his wife again, to wrap his arms around his daughters and hoist them into the air. Trapper was going to _home_.

Scalpel. Clamp. Suction. Monitor his pulse. Alright. Another one. Scalpel. Clamp. Repeat. Again. Another one. Hold him steady. Get the mask over his face. His chest's a mess. Frank, keep your eyes on your own work. I got it. Alright. He's finished. Another one.

The sun floats passed the window and disappears behind the mountains in the distance, staining the sky red. Stars begin to twinkle near the horizon. The moon comes out to bathe the compound in pale light.

Untie his apron. His hands are cramped again. Tug off the gloves. His mask is hanging around his neck. His feet hurt. His head hurts. His eyes and fingers and mind hurt. He's tired. Stumble back to the Swamp. Kick off his shoes.

Klinger stumbles through the door, grinning madly. They're meeting at Rosie's. Free drinks for Trapper, who's going home. He's going home. Home. Home. The word rebounds dully in his head and he's forgotten that he had reason to celebrate. But the fire leaps back into his stomach, roaring to life, hotter than he remembers it before.

The world's already blurred from exhaustion but sure, he'll have a drink. He'll have two. Maybe three. Three cheers for Trapper, who's going home. He'll be kissing Louise like he's kissing this nurse – Nurse Able – maybe, by the color of her hair.

Press another drink into his hand. Someone starts singing. Sure, he'll have another drink. Heck, drinks on the house. He's going home. The world is fuzzy and numb and spinning and Trapper really doesn't understand what any of the blurred, whirring faces are telling him, but sees teeth flashing as they smile, feels hands on his back, lips planted on his cheeks. Home. He's going home. Congratulations, Trapper. We're so glad for you, Trap. We'll miss you around here. Swell party. Too bad Hawkeye couldn't have been here to see this.

More drinks. More noise. More singing. More dizzying, indistinct elation that bubbles in his gut and makes him think he's going to throw up.

He wakes up on the floor of the Swamp, twisted in his blanket like he rolled off during the middle of the night. His head hurts. The tent tilts violently as he sits up. His heart patters weakly in his churning stomach, chattering to the dull beat of home, home, home.

He has to pack. But he can't get up. His feet are tangled in the blanket. Throw his rumpled jacket into his trunk that's somehow gotten open again in the middle of the night. He collects his socks, which are scattered around the room. Pull on his civvies. Snake his belt through just as Radar comes pummeling through the door.

"Jeep's here, sir."

"What, already?"

"It's oh-seven-hunred, sir."

"Why didn't you wake me, Radar? I've still got so much to do –"

"No time for that now, Trapper. You'll miss your plane. You're going home, sir." He says it with a giddy grin tinged with a sickly tint to his cheeks which means he's probably had just as wild a night as Trapper feels like.

Throw the rest of his gear into his bag. Never mind if he folds the shirts. No time for coffee he supposes. Darn. He could use a cup of coffee. Tear his sheets off the cot to make sure he hasn't missed anything. After all, he won't be back next weekend and it won't do to leave anything behind.

A piece of paper lands on the dirt of the floor. Darn it, Hawkeye. Trapper had forgotten – but there wasn't time now. Listen, Radar, tell him – tell him – what to tell him? You were my sanity. The best friend I've ever had. Tell him – a stifled kiss on the cheek because Hawkeye would never go for second-hand theatrics. And here's one for yourself, Radar. You're a swell kid and someday you're gonna make a girl very happy – when you work up the courage to talk to one.

"Good luck, sir. Many more happy years."

"I plan to, kid. I plan to."

Throw his stuff in the back of the jeep. People are racing out for roll call. Wave to them. They wave back, hollering good wishes. Throw the nurses kisses. Shove Frank one last rude hand single. Shout back something obscene to Margaret –

And it's gone, disappeared around a bend in the dirt road. Dust kicks up around the tires.

"Going home, huh?" says the driver. Trapper cranes his head over his shoulder, looking back at more dry dirt and shrubs that pile up behind them.

"Yep. Going home."

"Lucky dog."

Pull into the airport. Drag out his gear. Thank the driver. Check in at the office. Plane's taking off in five minutes, better get aboard. Hand his gear off to be loaded into the cargo hold. Trip up the stairs. Collapse into a seat. Stare out the window.

The runway rolls gently passed, speeding up, melts into a line of sand, disappears into green and muted browns and scarred landscape, obscured by clouds.

_Dear Hawk, _

_Sorry I missed you. Doesn't seem like this darn army knows how to hurry anything along except for the kind of the things you wish could wait a couple minutes longer –_

Louise. In only a little under a day he'd see her again. He'd feel America under his boots. Look at how big his girls had gotten.

The guy in the seat in front of him is going home, too. They shoot the breeze. Hardship discharge. His old man's died. He has to take over the homestead. Trapper's head is pounding. His stomach is roiling as the plane goes through a spot of turbulence. He shuts hit eyes against the sun that's shining through the plane's windows.

"Wild farewell party, huh?"

"Must have been. I can't remember it."

Talk about where they're both headed. Talk about wives and kids and families. Talk about what they did in the war. The guy can't seem to stop talking but Trapper just wants to lay back, close his eyes, imagine the look on Louise's face when he dismounts the plane.

Land in Tokyo. Change planes quickly. Loses the guy that was sitting in front of him. Shouts to the people handling his luggage to make sure they get it all on the plane. He'd forgotten to grab his girls presents. Never mind. He'd take them out for ice cream or to an amusement park. They'll say all the present they really wanted was him.

Climb back on the plane. Buckle himself in. Watch the paved runway slither passed the window. The engine roars beneath his feet. The air is thrust aside by the nose of the plane and rushes passed the windows. Tilts backward as the plane takes off. Soaring across Japan, across the ocean.

He dozes off but wakes up frantic, thinking he's left a pair of shorts or his lucky deck of cards back at the 4077. Never mind. They can send it over to him in Boston. In Boston, where Louise waits. Only a couple more hours.

The hours flicker passed, one by one. Ocean glitters underneath him. Clouds float by. Stewardesses click passed him with high heels.

"Beginning our decent, please fasten your seatbelts."

It'll be another plane transfer. San Francisco International. The Golden Gate glimmers red in the sunlight. It's windy and clear blue skies and Trapper breathes. The city is louder than he remembers. He's stiff from sitting for so long. Flicks some money at a kid behind the counter for a cup of coffee. His heart is hammering in his throat so that he can hardly gulp it down.

He doesn't know what time it is or what day it is or how much longer 'til he's back in Boston. He grabs a newspaper for the remaining flight.

"Attention, now boarding flight one-oh-seven. Logan International, Boston, direct."

Back through the terminal. Rushes passed the stewardess with a smile and a wink. Settles into his seat. Can't keep his hands still. The newspaper shakes as he flips through it.

War in Korea Rages On

Truman Addresses Congress

Police Action Versus War

Bring Back Our Boys

"I will go to Korea!"

Real Life Account of Wounded Soldier

_Dear Hawk,_

_By the time you get this you've probably noticed I'm gone and wondering what happened –_

"Beginning our decent. Logan International."

Boston? Already? But that had seemed to quick.

"Please, take a seat, sir. You'll be on the ground in a minute."

Trapper's whole body is shaking. His legs are shaking. His fingers are shaking as he runs them through his hair. He probably looked awful. He hasn't slept at all. Stairs at his reflection in the window. Dark shadows under his eyes. His clothes are rumpled and stained. He's pale. Louise will have a fit.

His stomach swoops as the plane racing in toward the runway. He's jogged back and forth as the wheels touch ground. The plane turns, glides to a stop –

Home. He's _home_. The door opens.

"Have a good day. Thank you for flying San Francisco Airlines."

Knees are shaking as he steps down from the plane. The sun is low behind the airport terminal. It must be getting on in the evening. The air is cool. Wind tickles the hair on his neck. He hasn't shaved in days.

"Daddy!

"–Daddy!"

Two blurs of blue and pink, brown-hair and blond-hair rocket toward him. Crash into his chest.

Becky. Darling, Becky. Kathy. My sweet, Kathy. Look how much you've grown. Don't cry, Beck. Daddy's home now. Daddy's home. Sweet, Kathy, you look so lovely. Give me a hug, Beck. Hold me. Hold me. Hold me.

Their sweet lips on his cheeks. The feel of their hands clinging to his. Becky's legs kicking against his stomach as he hoists her into the air. She's heavier than he remembers. Kathy's face buried in his chest, leaving damp stains on his shirt from her tears.

And Louise. Louise is running toward him. Dress flowing from behind her legs. Heels clicking on the cement floor.

"John!"

"Louise! Louise, baby!"

His eyes are burning. His hands are tangled in her hair. Her lips are planted forcefully on his. Arms digging into his sides. The four of them are a tangle of arms and legs. Gently they unwind.

One arm around Beck, the other around Kathy. Louise hovers nervously around him, touching his back, touching his hand, touching him to make sure he doesn't disappear again, make sure this isn't a dream.

"Car's right around back."

"Can I carry your bag, Dad?"

"Let me! I want to carry something."

"Why aren't you in uniform, Dad?"

"How long is it from here to Korea, Daddy?"

"Too long, sweetheart. Too long."

Bundle into the car. His neck hurts because he keeps turning it to soak in the sight of his two girls in the backseat. Kathy tells him about her teacher. Beck tells him about a boy in her grade who's so annoying. Louise drives the car and almost runs two red lights because she's shaking and crying and laughing all at once.

Pull up to their apartment. The sidewalk is still chipped out front. The landlord put in a new door. The trees cast long shadows on the four of them as they hustle up the steps. The sun sinks below the buildings.

Louise forgot to prepare dinner so Trapper tells them all they're going out. To the fanciest, most extravagant, most expensive place they can find. Other people are walking the streets. Couples arm in arm. Families sightseeing. Oblivious to the family of four who practically run across the sidewalk. Becky and Kathy skip ahead of them and Trapper and Louise hold hands. Trapper feels her thin, smooth hand in his and notices how warm she is, how real she feels, how she hasn't changed at all. But he'd forgotten how beautiful she was.

No one gets to bed on time that night. They stay up late. Talking. Laughing. An incoherent babble of joy and mirth.

"Let's help Dad unpack."

"Tell us about Korea, Daddy."

"Yeah, tell us about the war."

"Did you ever get shot at, Dad?"

"Did you kill any of the reds?"

Louise's arm is tight through his. She keeps looking at him. Her eyes glisten in the light of the lamp on the end table.

_Dear Hawk,_

_Well, I'm back on American soil. It hurts to think of you back there, in Korea. I hope Frank and Hot Lips aren't giving you too hard of a time. I hope my replacement turned out okay._

"Off to bed, you two."

"Aw. Five more minutes, Mom, please?"

The have a barbeque the next day. Invite the neighbors. Invite the whole street. Welcome home, Trap. Good to see you, buddy. He burns the hotdogs because it's been so long since cooking over the grill on their balcony that rises above the street.

Kathy has a ballet recital on Tuesday. Becky wants to go to the park to play catch. John, the hospital called. They want to know when you're coming back to work.

Tell them I'm taking a month off. Don't call me again.

They go camping. They stay at lavish motels. They go out to eat. They go to amusement parks and the beach. He almost throws away his whole salary in thirty-one days but it's worth it, to see his girls' faces light up. To have Louise hanging on his arm.

John the faucet's dripping. The toilet's blocked up. Barbequing steak. The car won't start. Can you drive Kathy to piano? Becky's not feeling well. She's staying home from school. Will you grab a quart of milk and a dozen eggs on your way home?

Louise doesn't talk about the women. In the same way that Trapper doesn't mention how Mr. Robertson, the kindly, good looking young man across the hall, and how he'd help around the house while Trap was gone. It doesn't matter. nothing matters. It doesn't matter that there will probably be more trouble in the future. But now they're together and Trapper can't get over how beautiful she is, how young and fresh and healed he feels when her body's next to his.

It's been a week, two weeks, a month and finally the dreamlike quality of being home begins to fade. His year in Korea takes the place of the dream, a nightmare that is finally over, and he dissolves once again into civilian life. He's starting work on Monday and –

_Dear Hawk _

"John? Come to bed, darling."

Tomorrow.

Maybe he'd write tomorrow.


End file.
